


Tipples

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo brings back a bottle.





	

Kylo hasn’t had alcohol in a very long time. When he last had it, he was probably a child, and he thought he was drunk, but mostly he was overly-giddy. His masculine (or Knight of Ren, or whatever) pride won’t let him admit that much to Phasma, even as he presents her with a bottle of the very, very, _very_ finest contraband, just like she’d mentioned that one time he (pretending to be smooth) had wrangled out of her as a luxury she would like to indulge in again.

Right now, he’s trying to smell all the woodsmoke and burned caf and weeping Womprats he’s supposed to. All he can _really_ smell is _sting_. Like, it stings his eyes, and his throat burns in protest at the slow poisoning of his body, but that doesn’t matter.

What matters is _her_.

And right now, her cheeks are slightly rosy, her eyes seem to shine even more than usual (possibly because his body is freaking out), and she keeps covering her mouth to try and prevent giggles bubbling out.

Kylo hooks a finger around her wrist, pulling, asking.

“What?”  


“I like to see your smile,” he says, shyly.   


She goes pinker still, and ducks her head for a moment, then brings it back up. “How could I refuse you?”

Damnit. Why is she so cute? And sexy? And adorable? And funny? And strong and smart and fierce and basically everything wonderful, ever? Kylo finds his own face going just as red, and he hides it in another (hack - sputter - try not to choke) drink.

“This is really the good stuff,” she says, shuffling around, pressing her curves to his lack thereof. Her head drops onto his shoulder, and she rubs her hair against his ear.  


It’s sort of tickly but he doesn’t freaking care because - damnit - he’s in love and it’s wonderful and also kinda terrifying, but more alcohol is definitely called for. “You deserve nothing less.”

“Charmer,” she accuses, kissing his cheek.  


Kylo blushes so hot now that he’s pretty sure he’s going to ignite his actual saber in sympathy heat. 

“Well. You _do_ deserve it,” he insists, feeling weirdly a bit defensive? And slightly ‘I would punch a Death Star for you’, which is (again) likely the booze.  


“Only if I get to share it with you,” she purrs, and slips an arm around his back.  


Kylo’s brain sort of turns off. It isn’t until he feels the kisses reach his lips that he remembers anything at all (and then it’s just to recap the bottle and move it as far away as possible) as she shoves him onto his back, pinning his hands down as she straddles his lap, writing target-locking circles with her hips over his.

Definitely worth every credit. And as they’ve barely drunk half, he’s going to have _multiple_ times to be happy he bought it. Yep.


End file.
